


she's got too much fire in her eyes (and ashes for a soul)

by BadWolfGirl01



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi (2017), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ben Solo Doesn't Turn to the Dark Side, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Dark Rey, Dark Side Rey, Eventual Relationships, F/M, Hux is Not Nice, Hux is a high functioning alcoholic, Jedi Ben Solo, POV Rey (Star Wars), Pre-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Protective Armitage Hux, Rey Phasma and Hux are one dysfunctional family, Reylo - Freeform, Role Reversal, Slow Burn, The Dark Side of the Force, The Force, Young Rey, as in they don't even meet for a long time, but he is protective, like glacially slow burn, phasma is too, tags will be updated as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-08 21:40:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13467096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadWolfGirl01/pseuds/BadWolfGirl01
Summary: In 15 ABY, a girl is born to a pair of criminal lowlifes. There is a Darkness about her, although they are both too Force-blind to feel it; what theycanfeel are the ripple effects.What they can feel isfearwhen the skinny, too-small five-year-old somehow flings a crate across the room during a temper tantrum.(The Darkness doesn’t need to be slow and gradual with this one--andwhata powerful thing she is, despite the emptiness of her bloodline. No one will notice a change.)(They sell her off to Unkar Plutt for drinking money, and they don’t look back.)[or: Rey has more potential than Ben Solo ever did. Snoke seizes the opportunity.]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello yes this is me starting a new fic. (i promise i'll have a chapter of 'follow me' out soon, for those of you who follow it; i've been really having a hard time getting through the second half of the chapter)
> 
> it's going to be a long ride, with a lot of Rey-growing-up-with-Snoke stuff, and it's likely the Resistance characters won't even come into play until a ways in; but there is redemption in the books, of a sort, and i promise the reylo will be worth the wait.
> 
> beta-read by the wonderful frisky pony and my good friend Ruby!
> 
> please leave a comment and let me know what you think!!

_ The Darkness has always been there. _

_ She doesn’t notice it at first; it creeps in, slowly, gradually, over time, until one day she looks at her son and realizes he has been Dark for years. _

_ Han doesn’t understand it--he loves his son, of course, and he loves  _ her, _ but the Darkness is all-consuming, inescapable, and Han can deny it all he wants but she knows he’s afraid. _

_ She is, too. _

_ She tells Luke about it, about the strange voice whispering in Ben’s ear, and her brother finally,  _ finally _ agrees. He’s not without his doubts, but he agrees to take Ben to train when the boy is ten years old. _

_ A few days after Ben’s tenth birthday, the Darkness disappears. _

  
  
  


_ In 15 ABY, a girl is born to a pair of criminal lowlifes. There is a Darkness about her, although they are both too Force-blind to feel it; what they  _ can  _ feel are the ripple effects.  _

_ What they can feel is  _ fear  _ when the skinny, too-small five-year-old somehow flings a crate across the room during a temper tantrum. _

_ (The Darkness doesn’t need to be slow and gradual with this one--and  _ what  _ a powerful thing she is, despite the emptiness of her bloodline. No one will notice a change.) _

_ (They sell her off to Unkar Plutt for drinking money, and they don’t look back.) _

  
  


Her name is Rey.

She scratches lines into the wall of an old, mostly-gutted AT-AT, but she’s not waiting for parents she already knows are never coming back. She’s just counting the days.

There’s a Voice that lives in her mind, and it whispers to her; it’s her constant companion, and while the things it says can be hard to swallow, even cruel, she’s never alone. It teaches her how to protect herself, too: once, when she’s six, a group of older teenage boys surround her, pinning her arms behind her back and hitting her with their fists until she gives up her portion for the day. She limps home that night, and the Voice shows her how to use the anger and the pain and the humiliation and the  _ hunger, _ turn it all into something powerful, and the next time the boys try to steal her portion  _ she _ takes  _ theirs, _ instead.

She learns to fight with a staff, too, and how to use the strange power within her (the Voice calls it the Force) to make every blow stronger; she only has a rudimentary grasp of it, at best, but it’s more than enough to help her survive.

Soon enough, no one bothers her.

(At night, she lays on a pile of rags and dreams of the worlds beyond Jakku.)

  
  


She’s eleven when the stormtroopers come to Niima. 

Unkar Plutt and the rest of the scavengers are terrified (but whether they’re afraid of the sign of the old Empire or of the way Rey reacts, she can’t tell), but she isn’t. The Voice had warned her, told her that the white-armored soldiers would be coming for her, to bring her to him. She’s finally ready, he’d explained; the desert has taught her all she needs to know. So she stands there, calm and confident, poised, her staff in one hand, the sack containing all her belongings over one shoulder, and she waits.

They don’t put binders on her wrists, or even take her things, though one does offer to carry her sack, his voice distorted by the modulator, an offer she declines. Instead, the four stormtroopers escort her to a sleek black shuttle. She takes one of the seats and stares out the transparisteel window, watching as Jakku falls away and the stars streak into lines, surrounding her with the flickering blue glow of hyperspace.

_ (Come to me, _ the Voice breathes, in a corner of her mind, and there’s something like glee mixed in with the words.)

  
  


The shuttle lands in the massive hangar of a super star destroyer, of the likes Rey’s never seen before. There are stormtroopers  _ everywhere, _ and a shiver of fear crawls down her spine despite her best attempt to smother it. She highly doubts  _ these _ stormtroopers will be as understanding as the four around her now.

The shuttle’s ramp lowers, and Rey clutches her staff close, apprehension tingling along her nerves. There’s a figure waiting at the bottom of the ramp, a woman in a sharply-pressed uniform of some sort, standing at attention. She smiles when she sees Rey and beckons with one hand; Rey hesitates, looks to her stormtroopers, and makes her way down the ramp.

“Welcome aboard the  _ Supremacy, _ Rey,” the woman says. “My name is Lusira Annix, and I’m to be your personal attendant. If you and your escort would follow me, I’ll show you to your rooms.”

Rey glances back over her shoulder, waves at the stormtroopers, and she can’t quite deny the fact that the instant the four-man (woman?) escort falls into place around her, she feels more at ease. Lusira starts off almost immediately, making for one of the turbolifts, kindly keeping her strides short enough that the eleven-year-old can keep up. They cross the hangar fairly quickly (not quickly enough--there are too many  _ people _ looking at her), and then they’re stepping into the turbolift (it’s a tight fit, but she’s small, and at least all the eyes are gone).

It shoots up into the air faster than anything, and she grins, eyes going wide at the feeling; all too soon, it reaches the right floor, and the doors slide open.

“This way,” Lusira says, starting off down the corridor, her boots clicking against the mirrored black floor.

Rey follows behind her, unable to quite keep herself from staring down at the floor--it’s the cleanest thing she’s ever seen. She looks up again, though, when Lusira stops in front of a door, opening it with a press of her palm to a screen. “These will be your rooms,” the older woman explains, stepping inside (the stormtroopers stop outside the door and face the corridor). “I’ll show you how to code the lock to your palmprint later. For now, the ‘fresher is over there,” and she indicates a door in the corner of the room, “and you should take a shower before meeting the Supreme Leader. I have some clean clothes for you.” She steps over to the dresser against one wall and pulls open one of the drawers. “The Supreme Leader educated me on your preferences and I had some things made.”

The clothing Lusira hands over is folded up, and Rey doesn’t bother to inspect it now. “Thanks,” she manages, and then she ducks into the ‘fresher, closing the door behind her and stopping in awe. A  _ real ‘fresher-- _ she’s never seen something so  _ luxurious _ before. There isn’t enough water on Jakku for anything like a real shower, and the prospect is… exciting, to say the least.

She carefully sets the clean clothes down on the counter before stripping out of her sandy rags and boots and letting her hair down, out of her usual three buns. She takes as long in the shower as she dares, basking in the warm water, and then she steps out with a sigh, shaking out her wet hair and grabbing a towel to dry off with.

It’s only then that she looks at the provided clothes. Black leggings that reach just past her knees, a light-colored undershirt, a longer, sleeveless, steel-grey tabard made of some lightweight material she doesn’t recognize, and loose, thin black sashes. The sashes aren’t  _ really _ necessary off of Jakku, without the constant possibility of a sandstorm (or just a wind), but the feel of them is comforting, and she wraps her leather belt around her waist over everything. Years of habit have her wrapping her off-white arm-wraps around her forearms and past her elbows.

There’s a wide-toothed comb in one of the drawers under the countertop, and she drags it through her hair, working as many of the tangles out as she has the patience for before finally giving in and just pulling her hair up into the three buns. She puts the comb back where she found it, jams her feet into her boots, and takes a second to look at herself in the mirror.

She looks… older.

The darker colors and more refined cut of the clothing lend a certain…  _ maturity, _ almost, to her, an air of something she can’t quite define but can see nonetheless. She takes a deep breath, pushes her shoulders back, steeling herself, and leaves the ‘fresher (and the safety it gives) behind.

Lusira is waiting in the room when Rey emerges. “Are you ready?”

Rey nods. “Yes.”

The Voice has been whispering in the edges of her mind for years, now. 

She’s ready to finally  _ meet _ him.

 

 

Lusira leads her and her escort back into the turbolift, and the doors have barely closed when it starts shooting upwards even faster than before (or so it seems). “The Supreme Leader has been looking forward to meeting you,” Lusira explains. “Being presented to him in person is a great honor.”

The turbolift comes to a stop before Rey has a chance to answer, and then the doors hiss open, and there’s no more time. 

The room beyond is red--red walls (or not walls, curtains maybe?), and red-armored guards around the edge--with a mirrored black floor even more polished than the corridors and a dull grey durasteel throne. The throne is occupied by a tall humanoid man in a long golden robe, with a misshapen, bald head and strangely yellow eyes.

(For the first time, she’s  _ afraid.) _

“Welcome, child,” the Supreme Leader (because who else could he be?) says, and his voice is soft and sinuous. “I have wanted to meet you for a very long time.”

Rey steps forward, leaving the turbolift behind, drawn towards the throne by some undefinable impulse; she stops about halfway there, stares up at the man on the throne. “Supreme Leader,” she tries, the words feeling strange and unwieldy on her tongue.

“You may call me Lord Snoke, or Master, whichever you wish,” he says, almost  _ gently. _ “Young Rey. Are you ready to learn the ways of the Force?”

(She’s been ready for years. All those lines marked into the walls of her AT-AT, all those days spent scrounging for bits of metal and trying not to starve to death, all the while knowing she is meant for something  _ more, _ and the only one who recognizes it is the voice in her head. The same voice that taught her how to protect herself, who kept her alive, who showed her how to  _ thrive, _ not just survive. The same voice that’s now here, in front of her.

She’s  _ beyond _ ready.)

“Yes, Master,” she breathes, staring up at him. “Show me  _ everything.” _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which we meet Hux and Phasma, and Rey learns a valuable lesson.

She doesn’t see Snoke again over the next two days.

After the first audience with the Supreme Leader, in which he’d shown her new exercises to practice, Lusira and the stormtrooper escort take her back to her rooms, and then she’s left alone. 

Alone, with nothing to occupy her except her staff and the Force exercises.

Two days in, Rey’s managed to figure out the exact time her escort (four stormtroopers who sleep in an adjacent set of rooms) goes to bed, leaving her free to explore the  _ Supremacy _ as she would. Bored by more inaction than she’s ever seen in her life, she takes advantage of the lack of surveillance and sneaks out of her room.

Staff slung over her shoulder, Rey makes her way to the turbolift and presses a key at random. There’s a flutter of excitement in her stomach: she’s never been able to see a destroyer in top condition, much less a super star destroyer as high-tech as the  _ Supremacy. _ The scavenger in her can’t help but price each bit of the ship; just the tech in her rooms is probably worth a few  _ dozen _ portions.

(For a moment, she imagines it: bringing the droid that delivers her meals, the palmscanner in the lock on her door, a few other pieces of tech, back to Jakku. Walking past the line of scavengers waiting to trade their haul in for whatever portions Unkar Plutt feels like giving away. The looks on their faces… the look on  _ Unkar Plutt’s _ face.

And then she shakes herself. She is far more than a scavenger, and she doesn’t need to worry about portions anymore. She’ll never starve again.)

She wanders down the corridor, idly trailing her fingers along the polished durasteel wall, alone with her thoughts. It’s late enough in the ship’s night-cycle she’s not expecting to meet anyone else, so it’s a surprise when she turns a corner and walks straight into a group of stormtroopers on patrol (or something like that, she’s not entirely sure--but they’re in full armor and they have blasters, high-powered, new models her fingers  _ itch _ to inspect).

The stormtroopers stop what they’re doing, turning to face her, and at first she’s not even worried (they won’t  _ dare _ hurt her, she’s the Supreme Leader’s apprentice, after all, and her escort is made of stormtroopers and they won’t hurt her); but there’s something almost  _ menacing _ about the way they approach her, slow and with obvious intent, and she unconsciously, instinctively takes a step back.

“What do we have here?” one asks, the helmet rendering their voice static, machinelike.

Another trooper cocks their head, inspecting her. “Looks like a little sandrat. It’s a long ways away from the desert.”

Rey freezes, suddenly unsure of herself--the trooper’s  _ right, _ this isn’t Jakku, she doesn’t know the rules. The only thing she knows for sure is that her new master is the highest authority;  _ he _ could make the stormtroopers go away, but can she? Does she have that power?

“Go back to your dunes, sandrat,” a trooper (maybe the first one, but she’s not sure, they all look and sound alike) says, jeering, and the rest of them laugh. She takes another step back, eyes widening, and suddenly one of them reaches out and grabs her arm hard enough to leave a bruise, dragging her into the middle of the group.

“I think it needs to be taught a lesson.”

“Are you sure?” This is a different trooper, from near the back of the group. “She might be one of the Supreme Leader’s…”

“Oh, don’t be kriffing ridiculous, TS,” the trooper standing in front of her says. “What’s the matter? Feeling a bit  _ sentimental?” _

“No, of course not,” the one called TS hurries to say. “Forget I said anything.”

“Good.” She can’t see the trooper’s face, but there’s still an eerie air of malice around him (this one is definitely a him, she thinks). It sends a shiver down her spine, and she instinctively tries to jerk away from the stormtrooper holding her, to no avail. “Scared, sandrat? You should be.” He nods at the one behind her, and the hands wrapped around her upper arms let go. “This is what happens when you try and get into places you have no business being.”

Before she can take advantage of her freedom, or do much of anything, really, there’s a flash of white in the corner of her vision, and then something slams into her face hard enough to send her sprawling. Pain stabs through her,  _ hard, _ from her face and her arms and her shoulder (there’s going to be a bruise there, too, from the impact with the floor), enough to bring tears to her eyes.

Vaguely, she can hear laughter.

Rey pushes herself to a sitting position, cheeks flaming (her whole face feels hot and prickly, almost like a sunburn but without the awful cracked dryness of one) and eyes blurry, and sniffs--and that’s how she learns her nose is bleeding. She wipes at it with the back of one hand, carefully (it doesn’t  _ feel _ broken, but there’s an awful lot of blood on her hand, and it really  _ really _ hurts), and stares up at the stormtroopers in a kind of horrified anticipation.

(She’s seen behavior like this before, on Jakku; she knows what happens next. There are no right answers. Whatever she does will bring punishment down on her. She’s not strong enough or certain enough in her position here to fight back, and so the only course of action is to wait it out, wait until they get bored of her, which might not be happening any time soon, and--)

_ “What is going on here?” _ a voice cracks out, sharp and icy-cold.

Rey flinches.

(She’s going to be in so much trouble, and Master Snoke will just drop her back on Jakku where she belongs--)

“Don’t you have something to be doing?” a different voice, a man, smooth and darkly threatening, asks, and there’s really no  _ asking _ about it. And he can’t be talking to  _ her, _ because she’s supposed to be in her rooms, so that must mean…

Sure enough, the stormtroopers immediately start to disperse, their boots clacking on the floor as they continue on in the direction she’d originally come from. Rey stares down at the mirrored black floor, swallowing, curling in on herself (the smaller you are, the less threatening you look, the less attention people will pay you, they won’t see you as competition, they’ll move on), waiting for the newcomers to address her (waiting for her punishment to be pronounced)--

Involuntarily, she sniffs, attempting to blink back her tears, and wiping blood off her face again.

“You’re the Supreme Leader’s new apprentice, aren’t you?” the man asks, polished black boots coming to a stop just inside her peripheral vision.

Rey nods miserably, a few more tears rolling across her cheeks, to her utter mortification.

“What are you doing down here?”

She half-shrugs one shoulder, pulling her knees close to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, still staring at the floor.

There’s a hissing sound (she flinches again, eyes snapping up to the source of the sound on instinct before she forces herself to look down again), and then the other person speaks, and this time the voice is distinctly feminine, without a modulator affecting it. “Look at her, Hux.”

“I  _ am _ looking,” the man--Hux?--says back, curtly.

“Then you should recognize that body language.”

Hux swears, letting out an explosive breath, and then, abruptly, there’s a pair of arms around her, scooping her into the air--she flinches, barely holding in a yelp, and flails wildly with one arm towards his face (maybe he’ll let her down if she can hit him, distract him, and then she can get away).

Before her wild punch can make contact, a chrome-gloved hand catches her wrist. “Quit that,” the woman says, exasperated. “We aren’t going to hurt you.”

Rey swallows, finally dares to raise her eyes from the man’s chest, first staring up at him, and then over at the woman. Piercing blue eyes stare cooly down at her--cool, but not entirely emotionless, some kind of sympathy mixed with a sharp anger, a contradiction she can’t even begin to puzzle out--and ginger hair frames his pale face. The woman also has ice-blue eyes, even more expressionless than Hux’s, and short blonde hair; she’s garbed in some kind of high-tech, chromium-plated armor, with an armorweave cape over one shoulder and a chrome helmet tucked under her right arm.

The woman meets Rey’s eyes for a long moment, and then deliberately lets go of her wrist and turns away. “Let’s go, Hux. Before another patrol shows up.”

“I can walk,” Rey tries, but she barely gets the sentence out before Hux shakes his head.

“Absolutely not. The Supreme Leader would  _ not _ be pleased if I let you run off and get into more trouble.” There’s no room for argument in his voice--he’s a man used to being obeyed, that much is obvious.

She squirms a bit. “Your coat is itchy.”

The woman laughs at that. “She does have a point.”

“My coat isn’t  _ itchy,” _ Hux says disdainfully, almost  _ offended, _ leveling a glare at the woman. “But I’ll let you down in the turbolift.”

Rey huffs a bit, not entirely satisfied with that answer, but she knows better than to push it--and the walk back to the turbolift  _ is _ much faster when the two adults don’t have to slow down for her shorter strides. Once the doors to the lift slide shut, Hux does as he said he would and lets her slide down; she backs as far away from him and the woman as she can in the lift’s confined space, putting her back solidly to a wall, and stares between the two.

“Who  _ are _ you?”

“General Hux, commander of the  _ Finalizer,” _ Hux says. “A star destroyer,” he adds on at her blank look.

Rey nods, slowly, and shifts her gaze to the blonde woman, expectantly. “Captain Phasma,” the woman--Phasma, apparently--says, looking thoughtfully down at Rey. “Captain of the Guard. That means I’m the overall commander of the First Order’s stormtrooper forces.” Phasma pauses before continuing. “And you are?”

She shifts uneasily. “Rey, from Jakku.” (Hux makes a disgusted face at the planet’s name.) “I’m Master Snoke’s apprentice, like he said,” and she indicates Hux with a nod.

“How old are you, Rey from Jakku?”

“Eleven,” she answers, lifting her chin defiantly.

“Isn’t it past your bedtime?” Hux asks snidely.

Rey flushes, dropping her gaze, but before she can speak Phasma cuts in.

“Armitage Hux!” the woman reprimands sharply.

Armitage?

Rey giggles without thinking, clapping her hands over her mouth in the next instant. “Your name is  _ Armitage?” _ she manages, in response to a raised eyebrow.

It’s Hux’s turn to blush. “It’s a perfectly fine name,” he says in a slightly-high-pitched voice, turning and staring daggers at Phasma in the next instant. “Don’t you start!”

The turbolift doors open before the captain can respond.

“Come on, Rey,” Phasma says, smiling now, gesturing at the door.

Rey steps out, hesitant, looking back at the two adults--this isn’t the level her rooms are on, so what is going on? “Where are you taking me?”

“To get you cleaned up,” the captain responds.

“And,” Hux adds, the embarrassment of the moment before seemingly forgotten as he steps out of the turbolift, “there are some things you should know. Has the Supreme Leader told you anything?”

She shakes her head. “Not about the, First Order.”

(Privately, she thinks that the First Order is a bit of a ridiculous name--it’s  _ way _ less imposing than the Galactic Empire, but who is she to comment?)

“Hm,” Phasma says thoughtfully. “We’ll have to fix that. What do you know about fighting?”

Rey falls into step behind the other woman, following her down the corridor. “I know how to use my staff,” she says. 

“What about a blaster?”

She shrugs. “You pull the trigger.” There’s a pause, and then, “There weren’t very many blasters on Jakku, and they’re worth a lot of portions if you find a working one.”

Phasma stops at a door, removing one of her gloves and scanning her palm. The door clicks unlocked, and she opens it, stepping through into a very spartan set of rooms; the one they step inside is some kind of all-purpose space, with a couple chairs and a couch opposing a low table, and a door in one wall that leads into a bedroom. Phasma drops her helmet onto the table, followed by first one glove and then the other, and then she begins the process of shucking off her armor.

“These are my rooms,” she explains. “Sit down, Rey. Hux, grab the medkit from my bedroom.”

Hux carefully lays his wool greatcoat over the back of one of the chairs, stripping off his black gloves and setting them down as well before vanishing into the attached bedroom. Rey stares after him for a moment, eyes wide (he acts like he lives here just as much as Phasma does, but that can’t be right), and then she shakes herself and carefully sits in one of the unoccupied chairs.

Hux comes back a minute later, just as Phasma’s stripping off the last of her armor, leaving her in a skintight black jumpsuit and socks; he’s carrying a red pack, which he sets on the floor by Rey’s chair and unzips. He holds out an antiseptic wipe in a sterilized package. “I assume you are capable of cleaning your own face?”

Rey flushes (again, and this seems to be a common occurrence around the general) and takes the wipe, tearing the packaging open and unfolding the wipe within. “You don’t have to talk to me like I’m a child,” she says, a bit sharply, stung by his continual condescension. “I’ve been taking care of myself since I was five.”

“Don’t be too offended,” Phasma says lightly, dropping down to sit on the couch. “He’s like that with everyone. It’s a side effect of power.”

Hux grumbles something under his breath, shaking out a pill into his palm and holding it out. “Swallow this. It should help with the bruising.”

Rey takes the proffered pill, dry-swallowing it before resuming cleaning the dried blood off her face. “Thank you,” she says, quietly.

Hux brushes her thanks off, standing and setting the medkit on the table. “I need a drink,” he mumbles, walking over to his coat and snagging an insulated bottle from one of the pockets. He thumbs the top open, takes a long swallow, and lets out a sigh, dropping into the chair. “You can’t let stormtroopers control you,” he says after a moment, louder. “It’s ridiculous. They’re  _ stormtroopers, _ and you are the Supreme Leader’s apprentice. To allow them to order you around and  _ injure _ you is simply poor form.”

“What he means,” Phasma says dryly, “is that you’re higher on the food chain than stormtroopers are, and you need to act like it or you’ll never be respected.”

“Obviously,” Rey grumbles (but  _ she’s _ higher than all those stormtroopers are? that’s good to hear), crumpling up the dirty wipe. “But I’m so much smaller than them, and--well,” she hesitates, worries her lower lip between her teeth.

“Well what?” Hux raises a single, perfectly-arched eyebrow.

“I’m a scavenger from Jakku,” she says, clasping her hands tightly together in her lap.

“Not anymore you aren’t,” Phasma says, fierce. “I’m from Parnassos,” she continues. “I spent my childhood scavenging starships and fighting to protect my clan. Look where I am now. Your past built you, but it does not define you. Only you can define yourself.”

Rey’s eyes widen, the enormity of that statement hitting her. “You were a scavenger?” she breathes. The captain nods, and Rey straightens up, suddenly, bruises and aching nose all but forgotten. “Help me, then.” She leans forward just a little in the chair, eager energy sizzling through her. “What can I do?”

Phasma smiles and begins to speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, Phasma really was a scavenger. check out her wookieepedia page. it's quite interesting.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> help this fic is swallowing my soul

She bolts awake, mouth open in a silent scream, drenched in sweat and shaking. The lights are off, the room too  _ dark, _ and the very air feels  _ wrong, _ sound echoing in an unfamiliar way, and for a moment, she doesn’t know where she is.

Things click back into place, just enough to bring understanding--she’s on the  _ Supremacy, _ and she’s alone, and she’s--

She’s surrounded by stormtroopers.

(She can’t  _ see _ in the dark, some logical part of her mind knows this, but she’s not seeing, or not with her eyes, anyway; but she can  _ feel _ it, the pulses of life thrumming through the ship’s great metal bones, and in her desperation she reaches but all she can see-feel-taste is  _ white, _ white plastoid and boots clomping all in rhythm, and she’s  _ alone--) _

Rey scrambles to the edge of the bed, legs tangling in the sheets, like hands pulling her down, holding her trapped in the sinking sand until she gives up her salvage for the whole  _ day _ and she can’t even scream, and then she’s slamming into the hard cold floor (and the ghosts of white boots in the edges of her eyes, flickering in and out like a badly-transmitted hologram) and all she can think of is  _ safe _ and a scratchy wool coat.

(She  _ reaches, _ instinctive, that sixth sense seeking out  _ familiar, _ and the first one she brushes on is an inky-midnight black hole that threatens to pull her in, swallow her whole and spit her out in pieces, and she recoils and falls back into her own head; but then she’s alone with the boots and the boys holding her, holding her, and she can’t get  _ away, _ and  _ there!) _

She pulls herself to her feet, stumbling out of the knotted blankets, catching herself with one hand (and a part of her observes that there’s nothing  _ to _ catch herself on, just the air), and blindly flees from the room (her feet are bare and she cannot tell if she runs across cool metal or burning sand).

Nobody’s outside the door; she stands a moment, frozen, in the middle of the corridor, eyes struggling to adjust to the sudden brightness. Uncertainty holds her in place, even as the sheer  _ terror _ flooding through her veins demands that she  _ run, now, _ and she grabs desperately for that familiar spark again and  _ moves. _

(How dare you be afraid, her own mind hisses--how could you be so weak? And it’s the mocking, jeering voices of the boys from Jakku,  _ not so brave now, are you, _ laughing in her subconscious, and  _ I think it needs to be taught a lesson!) _

She claps her hands over her ears and staggers into the turbolift (buttons light up that she doesn’t push and the doors slide closed and the lift is going up, up, up), and the voices just keep  _ shouting _ and shouting and shouting and shouting and--

“Shut up, shut up!” and she doesn’t remember opening her mouth but the words come screaming past her lips anyway, and she lets out an anguished wail and squeezes her eyes closed.

(The turbolift stops and the doors open, and she flings herself into the new corridor, blind and deaf, her feet following a path traced out in glowing silver.)

Her knees give out, and she falls, and it feels like hands pulling her down (and she’d seen a scavenger, once, stayed out too late, couldn’t make it back to Niima before the earthquake came, and she’d stood there no more than a hundred meters away and watched as the sands shifted right before her very eyes and swallowed him whole), and she grabs tightly to the only still point in the storm, the anchor, the sense of  _ home _ and  _ safe _ and she clings to his mind and screams  _ help me! _

[=|=]

If Phasma was to find out that he, Armitage-bloody-Hux, the general of the First Order, is still awake at kriffing  _ three am, _ she would, he muses, knock him unconscious with the bottle in his hands.

But what Phasma doesn’t know won’t hurt her, and more importantly, won’t hurt  _ him, _ and so Hux leans back in his chair, puts his feet up on the ottoman, and taps the glowing screen of the datapad on his lap. Numbers flash before his eyes, coordinates mainly, the locations of the major ships of the fleet; he frowns a bit at one suspicious set of coordinates (what would a star destroyer be doing near  _ Jedha, _ of all places, a backwater moon still uninhabitable from the original Death Star weapons testing, nearly thirty years ago?) and opens his bottle, taking a swallow of the Corellian gin inside. 

And then something  _ slams _ into his head,  _ panic _ and  _ pain _ and  _ desperation _ and  _ help me! _ and it’s strong enough to make his vision white out for a few tense heartbeats. When the whirlwind of emotions finally recedes enough to allow him some semblance of rational thought, the first thing he realizes is that he’s half on his feet, datapad and bottle both on the floor, his  _ expensive _ alcohol spilling all over the datapad--and, even as he watches, the screen fuzzes and goes dark.

Hux swears.

“Bloody  _ kriffing _ electronics,” he growls out, his voice scratchy from lack of sleep, and he bends down and picks up the bottle, sealing it and setting it carefully on the floor by his chair. He leaves the datapad where it is (it’s unsalvageable, he can get a new one in the morning) and stumbles over to the door as best as he can in the dim half-light of his rooms.

(And, of course, he bangs his shins against the low table, the sharp stab of pain eliciting another string of curses, and Phasma is going to be  _ so superior _ about this, the insufferable woman,  _ this is why you shouldn’t stay up late to work, _ every time!)

He drags the door open after another minute of blind fumbling, and squints into the corridor. “Who’s there-- _ Rey?” _

Incredulous, he stares down at the too-small girl curled into a tiny ball of misery and anguish, barefoot and pajama-clad, her hair a tangled mess, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her eyes open, focus on him (hazel irises almost entirely eclipsed by her pupils, ablaze with utter panic), but she’s sobbing too hard to speak, and he takes pity on her and drops down to one knee.

“C’mere, you,” he mumbles with a sigh, glancing to make sure the hallway is empty before gathering her thin, trembling form into his arms. “Let’s get you out of the hall.”

And he is in  _ trouble, _ he realizes, returning to his room and closing the door, because he has no defense against a scared, crying child. How is he supposed to keep the girl from worming her way into what’s left of his heart (stunted little thing that it is) when she shows up, quite literally, on his doorstep in the middle of the night?

Hux huffs out a breath and swipes his commlink from the table, before sitting back down in his chair. Rey immediately nestles into his chest; he can’t help but notice the trembling has already abated, the panic lessening. He watches her for a minute, helplessly, and then lifts the commlink to his mouth.

“Phasma, are you awake?”

_ “I am now,” _ comes the rasping response, after a moment.  _ “What the hell do you want, Hux? It’s three am!” _

“Yes, I am aware of that,” he hisses, rolling his eyes (and it’s a shame she isn’t here to witness it, because that was a truly  _ magnificent _ eye-roll). “It’s the girl. Rey. I think she had a nightmare--she just showed up outside my door.” He pauses. “And she’s crying.”

Phasma groans.  _ “You woke me up for this?” _

“What am I supposed to do?” he asks, rather horrified. “I don’t know anything about children!”

_ “What did you want?” _ she asks, after a moment, and her voice is a bit different this time, softer and quieter.

He swallows, quick and convulsive. “A safe pla--” and cuts off, abruptly, as it hits him.

_ “And there it is.” _

He looks back down at Rey again, seeing the trust inherent in the way she curls around him, hiding her face in his dark t-shirt.  _ (Look at her, _ Phasma had said, and  _ then you should recognize that body language, _ and she was right, he  _ does _ recognize it.) Hesitantly, unsure, he lifts one hand (the hand not holding the commlink) and rests it on her head, then lightly strokes her tangled hair, the motion a vaguely remembered soothing feeling from a long-gone childhood. The girl lets out a quiet sigh and snuggles closer, and something in him can’t help but wonder--has she ever been held before?

The commlink crackles, reminding him of its existence.  _ “Now, if that’s everything, I’m going back to sleep--hang on.” _ A pause, just long enough to feel ominous.  _ “Why do you sound so awake?” _

Hux swallows back a groan and inhales.  _ Every single time. _ “No reason, none at all.”

_ “Is that so?” _ Phasma asks, suspicious.  _ “Armitage Hux, if I find out that you’ve been staying up until  _ three am _ working and  _ drinking, _ we are going to have a problem.” _

He grits his teeth. “Yes, thank you very much, Captain, that will be all,” and he can’t help but add on, in a rush, “and  _ how many times _ have I told you  _ don’t call me Armitage!” _

“I thought you said ‘s a perfectly nice name,” a muffled voice says from his shirt.

“That is  _ not the point,” _ he snaps out, ignoring the staticky laughter coming across the comm. “Phasma, shut up, that’s an  _ order.” _

_ “As you wish, General,” _ Phasma says, rather mockingly, and then the comm goes dead.

Hux sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers; he’s drawn to look down again by a tug on his shirt. “What?”

Rey’s staring up at him, her face tear-streaked, eyes red-rimmed but alert and curious. “D’you  _ like _ her?”

He swears.

[=|=]

It’s just an honest question,  _ really, _ she’s not sure why he’s so  _ upset _ about it. Hux spits out a string of words that some of the smugglers who come to Niima for parts (and people) would be proud to hear and turns an interesting shade of crimson. Idly, she wonders how  _ healthy _ that particular red is; she’s never  _ seen _ anyone look like that except for the new ones who didn’t know to cover their faces.

“I am  _ not drunk enough for this,” _ Hux chokes out after seemingly exhausting his store of curses (which is too bad, some of them were actually kinda interesting; she’s pretty sure most of those particular anatomical configurations aren’t even  _ possible, _ come to think of it). “Captain Phasma is my colleague--”

“Are you not s’posed to like your colleagues?” Rey asks curiously, still drifting on the waves of newfound calmness. There’s a strange kind of exhaustion weighing her down, like she’s been drained of every drop of energy, and an odd floaty numbness runs through her blood, and it  _ finally _ feels like she can breathe again. “Don’ worry,” and she leans her head against his chest again, slipping one skinny arm around him in a half-hug. “I won’t tell anyone…”

“Go to sleep, Rey,” he says in an entirely different voice, and a part of her mind wonders how many people he talks like this to.

“Don’t leave,” she breathes, gripping a handful of his shirt in her other hand and holding on tightly. “P-please don’t leave.”

“You aren’t alone,” he promises, and his arms come around her again and then she can feel him standing. He says something in a low voice, talking into the commlink again, she thinks, and then he’s walking across the room. “You’re safe here, Rey. Do you understand me? No one can hurt you here.”

“Safe…” she murmurs, feeling a tear sneak out from beneath her closed eyelids. “They stole my haul and took all the portions and I couldn’t--they  _ laughed _ at me…”

“I’m not going to laugh at you, I promise.”

And then he’s setting her down somewhere (a bed?), and she makes a weak, protesting noise, grabbing at his shirt again; he shushes her gently. “Just a minute,” and he untangles her fingers from his shirt.

Rey pries her eyelids open and squints through the darkness to see him sitting on the other side of the bed, pulling off his boots and socks, and then he lifts the blanket and slides underneath. “Are you gonna make me leave?” she asks, barely a whisper, something awful twisting inside her at the thought.

“No,” Hux says, low and fierce. “Never. Come here.”

She scoots under the blanket and over to him, curling up into his side, feeling safe and warm for the first time she can remember. “I like you,” she says, sleepily, eyes falling closed. “Even though your name’s Armitage.”

And then the warm darkness takes her.


End file.
